


Unexpected Developments

by erunamiryene



Series: Codex: Incorrigible Libertines [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Actual Date Night, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Inappropriate Behavior, Interrupted Date Night, Lin Hates Dresses, Surprises, Uniforms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-17 22:23:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5887558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erunamiryene/pseuds/erunamiryene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One aborted date night is simply a challenge to have another one.    Refusing to accept defeat in the face of Lin's vehement hatred of pretty dresses and her insistence that they do not "date," Pierce finally convinces Lin to let him take her out for a nice dinner.  He isn't expecting her to turn the tables on him quite so thoroughly.</p><p>(A series of ficlets came together into a whole story.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dress blacks are similar to [USMC officer blues](http://media.defense.gov/2010/Apr/10/199480/-1/-1/0/100410-M-2156H-006.jpg), with some minor changes - silver buttons, no pockets on the jacket, silver embroidery around the cuffs and collar, black dress gloves.

[1]  
Lin and Pierce are facing off like two snarling tuk’ata, staring balefully at each other from opposite sides of their bed and shouting like drill instructors.

“I don’t want to go on a fucking date, Pierce,” Lin snaps, so angry she doesn’t even register that he’s standing in front of her in black dress trousers and an undershirt, red tie draped around his neck. “I don’t do dates. _We_ don’t do dates! What the fresh hell is this shit?” Lin gestures angrily at the dress on her bed. If she’s honest, he probably could have talked her into a date, or something resembling a date, until she saw the damn dress. “And what is this?”

“ _That_ ,” Pierce bellows, still wondering how a dinner invitation ended up in a verbal brawl, “was not my idea, so don’t fucking yell at me for it! Go yell at Jaesa! All I wanted to do was take your ungrateful ass to dinner because you’ve been working long hours and we finally had a fucking break and now you’re pitching a shitfit about a ….” He stops, looking at the dress on the bed, momentarily distracted from his ire wondering how she’d look in said dress. “Well, it’s a sexy dress, what the fuck is the problem with it?”

“Are you shitting me?” Lin picks up the dress, growling when the luxurious turquoise fabric flows like water in her hands. “You know I hate dresses! I … I can’t even fucking ball it up to throw it at you!” She heaves it back at the bed, where it flutters - _offensively_ flutters - onto the comforter.

“For fuck’s sake, it’s fucking _dinner_!” He throws his hands into the air. “I didn’t ask you to .. to ….” He racks his brain for something completely outrageous. “I didn’t ask you to fucking marry me!”

“Well, I wouldn’t even if you did!” she snaps right back, stalking around the bed and standing toe to toe with him.

“Well, good!”

She gasps. “That’s rude! How dare you! You’d be fucking lucky to marry me!”

“Are you gonna put on the fucking dress so we can make this damn reservation or not?” He looks at his chrono, and he hadn’t thought it possible but he scowls even harder. “Don’t even fucking bother. You’ve been yelling about this stupid shit for so long that we’re gonna miss it anyway.” He about-faces and stomps toward the door, pausing at the doorway. “When you decide you want to stop being fucking difficult, you come get me and maybe we can eat!” Without turning to look at her, he storms out of the room.

“Better get some fucking rations, Major,” she shouts at his receding back. “You’re going to be waiting a long fucking time!” She swipes the dress onto the floor, then drops dramatically onto the bed and slams a pillow over her face, unleashing a muffled scream.

She isn’t sure how much time has passed when she hears the tap on her doorframe.

“I swear on the fucking Force,” Lin growls, the words muffled, “Pierce, if that’s you, I’m going to -”

“It’s me, my lord,” Vette says. “Can I come in?”

“Fine.”

The short, slender Twi’lek enters the room and shuts the door behind her, flinging herself onto the bed next to Lin and giving her a conspiratorial look. “You know, my lord, it would be very easy for you to win this argument.”

Lin moves the pillow down, revealing one eye. “I’m listening.”

“Suck it up, put on the dress, and go sauntering off to find Pierce. He’s just sulking out on the balcony with a glass of whiskey. You show up in that dress and he’s not gonna want to argue with you anymore, I guarantee it.” Vette grins. “Come on, you know you want to see the look on his face.”

Lin considers, then shakes her head. “I hate dresses.”

“But you shouldn’t, not being all -” Vette flaps a hand at Lin. “All statuesque like that, my lord. I promise, Jaesa picked a good one. And she only did it because you refused to go shopping. We’re on Alderaan, you knew she was going to go shopping.”

“Ugh, fine.” Lin heaves a huge, put-upon sigh. She knows she sounds like a whiny acolyte and doesn’t care. “I’ll wear the stupid dress. But I’m telling you right now: if he so much as smirks at me, I am never wearing another one again, and you two conniving schemers are going to be on so much shit detail that you’re gonna regret wasting the fucking credits on this … thing.” She stands, heaves the pillow at the bed, and snatches the dress off the floor. “Scram. I can dress myself.”

“We’re gonna wait outside. We want to see you before he does.” Vette bounces up and down, grinning. “This is gonna be great.”

Lin’s lip curls in a sneer as she looks at the dress. Silk and lace, designed to be light and wispy and useless, though she grudgingly admits that the color is nice. She slides the dress over her head, adjusting the lace bandeau as the featherlight silk drifts downward. She wants to just leave it but her vanity won’t let her, and she spends an extra minute making sure the stupid garment sits perfectly on her breasts before she opens the small latched box that holds her meager makeup collection and applies eyeliner, mascara, and a shimmery gloss that Jaesa foisted on her but Lin’s never used. She slips her feet into the matching heels, then turns a critical eye to her reflection in the full length mirror.

“I look like someone’s trying to dress up a bantha,” she mutters.

“Do not!” Jaesa calls from outside the door. “Let us see!”

Lin glares; her reflection glares back, gray eyes stormy, before Lin spins and crosses the room, slapping the door panel. “There. Happy?”

Jaesa’s mouth falls open, and then she smirks. “He’s toast. He is so, so done. Putty in your hands, Master.”

“Jaesa, that color was a perfect choice,” Vette says with no small amount of awe. “My lord, you look ….”

“You look like Vette and I need to go find somewhere else to be for a few hours,” Jaesa grins. “Come on, let’s go check out that open-air market.”

As the two women disappear out the front door of the hotel suite, Lin lingers by the corner of the hallway.

Pierce is standing out on the balcony, glass in hand, leaning on the railing and watching whatever’s going on on the street five floors below. He straightens, paces three steps, stops. Swirls the amber liquid in his glass. Leans on the railing again. Repeats this in the other direction.

Not at all optimistic about how this is going to go, still half-convinced she’s the butt of some elaborate practical joke the three of them cooked up, Lin takes a deep breath and strides across the living room. At the balcony door she stops. “Saunter,” she mutters to herself under her breath, fierce, before she slides the door open.

“Jaesa, I already told you twice,” Pierce says without turning, “I’m not going back in there until she stops acting like a damn rancor.”

“I think I at least _look_ better than a rancor,” Lin retorts. That isn’t remotely what she’d planned on saying but her pride is piqued and her mouth takes over.

Pierce, still looking out over the railing, takes a slow drink before he speaks. “Unless you’re out here to apologize, my lord, I don’t want to -”

He turns to face her, and whatever it was he’d wanted to say abandons him.

Lin is leaning against the doorway, dress stirring in the gentle breeze. The bright turquoise fabric is held up by magic as far as Pierce is concerned, clinging to the tops of her breasts before it flows loose and tantalizing to her mid-thigh, revealing mere hints of her curves before it shifts again and the glimpse is lost.

All he can do is stare. He would never have pictured Lin in something like this in his wildest dreams, and he briefly curses his lack of imagination.

“Well … fucking say _something_ ,” she finally snaps, harsher than she intends, but she can’t handle the silence anymore.

He takes a step closer, setting his glass on the patio table as he passes it. “You look ….” He shakes his head, still at a loss for words.

“I look ridiculous,” she supplies with irritation, ready to turn around and go back inside. “Just like I said.”

“Don’t be a jackass, Lin.” He slides an arm around her waist before she can leave, sure he can feel the heat of her skin through the fabric, then pulls her flush against him, swallowing hard. “You feel that? You looking ridiculous - and I’ve seen you drunk off your ass, so believe me, I am well-fucking-versed in you looking ridiculous - does not give me an instant boner.” The hand on the small of her back slips down and cups her ass, keeping her close as he walks backward toward a patio chair. “You look fucking gorgeous.” He drops into the chair, gives her a look full of heat and wanting. “Still mad I asked you to dinner?”

She gives the look right back, eyeing the crisp white undershirt, pulled taut across his shoulders, and the noticeable strain on his trousers. “Yes.”

“Too mad to fuck me?”

Lin settles into his lap, hooking her ankles around the back legs of the chair as she reaches for his belt buckle. “Don’t be a jackass, Pierce. There’s no such thing and you know it.”

[2]  
They have two days left in the capital, and Pierce has finally cajoled Lin into letting him take her out to dinner, rather than standing in the hotel yelling about going out to dinner like they did last time he tried, back on Alderaan a month ago. He’s half-sure this is because she thinks she’s going to get the drop on him again with yet another dress that makes him forget his own name, but he’s taken steps to dodge that problem before it comes up: he bribed Jaesa with a large box of her favorite cookies so she’d show him the dress before the date.

Of course, after seeing the dress - and thinking about Lin wearing it - he’s not entirely sure that’s going to be enough, but he’s had bearing drummed into him since his parents packed him off to military school (at his request), and this time it’s going to be her standing there stupefied.

After all, he owes her a little bit of payback.

He’s borrowed Jaesa and Vette’s room to get ready. Hair still water-darkened, towel securely wrapped around his waist, he pushes the rainbow of clothing in the closet aside and extracts his uniform and box of accessories, carted off the ship in the wee hours of the morning. He tosses the box onto the bed, hangs the uniform over the top of the closet door, and removes the cleaner’s bag.

His dress black bravos have long been relegated to the back of his closet, contained by similar cleaner’s bags and not even worn for the military ball, for as long as he’s had them. He knows they look good, but he’s so diametrically opposed to dog-and-pony shows that he merely tolerates their presence, keeping them purely because they’re a required uniform item. The only thing he’s changed on them over the years, other than making sure they still fit, is updating the rank insignia and awards. He isn’t sure Lin even knows he has them, they’re such a non-entity in his military career.

He brushes a minuscule speck of lint off the sleeve of the heavy black jacket. Turns a critical eye to the centered row of silver buttons embossed with the Imperial emblem, rotates the ones that are crooked. Notices smudges on the belt buckle, makes a note to clean them off once he’s dressed. His rank insignia and collected ribbons and devices are all pinned to a card, stuck in a storage container with the rest of his uniform accessories. He fishes the card out, then immediately reaches for the ruler he keeps in the box, not willing to eyeball their placement. Once those are done, there’s a quick check of his hat, complete with a swipe of a soft cloth across the shiny brim to eliminate any stray prints, and boots, and everything is ready to go.

He discards the towel, gives his hair a vigorous all-over rub to remove the rest of the dampness, then tosses it into the bathroom. Underwear and undershirt are next, then the still-pressed dress trousers and slim belt, not that he needs it; the pants are tailored just this side of too tight. He’s always meant to have them let out, but is well aware of how good his ass looks in them and is happy he hasn’t gotten around to it before now.

The heavy coat only serves to make his shoulders look even more broad, he notes as he shrugs it on, glad it’s late fall. He rechecks his insignia and ribbons, making sure they’re not crooked. Satisfied, he turns to the row of heavy silver buttons, scowling at the wrangling required for the ones near the high decorated collar. The black leather belt is cinched around his trim waist, the accompanying shoulder strap bisects his chest, and the scarlet aiguillette and knee high dress boots complete the uniform, except for the hat and black dress gloves.

He extracts the gloves from the box and pulls them on, turning to survey himself in the full-length mirror on the wall. A very satisfied smirk curves his mouth. Lin doesn’t stand a chance, and that makes the discomfort of the high collar and the boots that will be pinching his feet in an hour absolutely worth it.

He looks over when there’s a tap on the closed door, opening it just a crack to reveal Jaesa, who raises an eyebrow and gives a low whistle of appreciation when she sees him.

“You certainly clean up nicer than your mouth would suggest,” she whispers, grinning. “She’s already waiting for you in the living room, Major. Give it maybe three more minutes, then come out.”

He rubs the smudges off his belt buckle, checks his gig line one last time, then tucks his hat under his arm and opens the door. He moves down the hallway with swift, silent strides, coming to a stop a few steps into the main room, standing as motionless as if this was a commanding officer’s inspection.

Lin is lingering near the floor to ceiling windows by the balcony, looking out at the lights dotting the city. She doesn’t know he’s there until he clears his throat, unable to restrain the smirk already forming before she starts to pivot toward him. She’s been eagerly anticipating his arrival .. and the look on his face when he sees her bright white, dramatic dress, held up by the wide silver choker circling her throat. “Oh, are you finally ready? You’ve been in there for -”

Her voice disappears and her mouth falls open as she takes him in, and she wonders if perhaps she’s having a fantastic hallucination. Pierce hates military shit unless it’s armor, weapons, or combat. She knows by heart almost all of his rants about the uselessness of Imperial customs and courtesies and ceremonies; she’s even recited them along with him a few times just to get a rise out of him.

And yet, here he is in the dressiest of dress uniforms, looking like an Imperial Army recruiting poster come to life. Not a hint of humor in his caramel eyes, not a hint of a smile on his mouth. She half-expects him to snap a salute.

She takes slow, almost cautious steps toward him, stopping when she’s less than a handspan away to trail a finger along the silver embroidery on his collar and cuffs, across the top of his impressive stack of ribbons, over his rank insignia, one column of four red tiles and one column of two blue tiles. Clasping her hands behind her back, a stance completely at odds with her swirling floor-length dress, she prowls around him, admiring the cut of the coat, the starkness of the rich black fabric against his warm brown skin, the way those pants hug the curve of his ass.

He looks positively mouthwatering.

“Wow!” she breathes, unable to come up with anything more eloquent. “Sweet merciful _fuck_ , Pierce, look at you!” Her interest in dinner is gone; she wants him in her bed and that uniform strewn all over their room. Well, everything but the coat, she decides after some deliberation. He can leave that on. Unbuttoned, maybe slipping off a shoulder as he -

She bites her bottom lip, trying to wrest her focus away from this increasingly vivid fantasy, and skims her fingertip along his jaw. “Are you allowed to kiss in this uniform, Major, or do I need to take you out of it first?” She lifts her fingers to a button, grinning when he swats her hand away. He gives her a hard stare but it doesn’t last long, replaced by a wide smile that takes over his face and crinkles the corners of his eyes. 

“You know I don’t give a fuck about what I’m _allowed_ to do, my lord.” He offers silent thanks that she’s already as close as she is given how much the damn coat restricts his movements, and settles one gloved hand on the small of her bared back, pulling her flush against him as her mouth meets his.

“You know,” she murmurs, all but batting her eyelashes at him, already maneuvering him back down the hallway, “we don’t necessarily have to go to dinner. After all, this getup must get dreadfully uncomfortable.”

He stops her a few feet from the bedroom door. “Are you telling me I wrestled with all these damn buttons and pin backs for nothing?”

“Oh no,” she says fervently, with her hand slipping up under his coat and her mouth leaving kisses like fire along the bared skin of his throat. “Not for nothing. Something that looks this good would _never_ be for nothing.”

His eyes flutter closed when her teeth close around his earlobe, and he almost decides to let her have her way when she reaches for his belt. It's not like he wants to sit around in this tach suit forever.

But then he thinks about what she’ll be like after dinner, if she’s like this now.

“Lin!” He steps back, backing into the wall as he searches for the amount of discipline necessary to tell her no, briefly wondering how he’s arrived at a point in his life where he’s using military training to fend off the advances of a gorgeous woman. A gorgeous woman that he _wants_ in his bed, no less. “I said I was going to take you to dinner, and I'm gonna make good on that.” He extends his arm. “My lord.”

“You mean, I have to sit and look at you looking like this for hours?” Not that that’s a hardship, really, she thinks, even if she can barely concentrate for how badly she wants him. She takes his arm, of course. How could she not? If she wanted to be honest, she’d admit she’s greatly looking forward to the kinds of looks he’s going to get while they’re out, not that she’d tell him that. 

Besides, two can play this game. “Do remember you’re escorting a Sith Lord, Major. I expect the evening’s entertainments to be appropriately engaging.”

[3]  
Lin has been dropping hints into their conversation for the last half hour, about as subtle as a rancor in a tea shop, and it’s time to see if Pierce caught them or if they’ve had too much to drink and she’ll have to wait til they get back to the hotel. She stands and turns, white shimmersilk swirling around her ankles. “I’ll be right back.”

Pierce can’t take his eyes off the valley of her spine, the expanse of her bared back, the way her hips sway as she weaves between tables. 

He wants her. He’s wanted her since he saw her two hours ago, has spent quite a lot of dinner thinking about all the ways he can put that expanse of soft white fabric to better use. But then, he always wants her. His desire for her is like a continuous low-grade fever he makes no effort to cure, fed by the knowledge that she feels the same way about him.

He’s waited long enough; she should be in there by now. He tosses a credit chip onto the table, tucks his hat back under his arm, and strides smartly down the hallway toward the alcove and the ‘fresher. 

The universe is on their side; she’s the only person in there. “Oh, good, you took my hints!” she says brightly, taking the hat out from under his arm and tossing it toward the hat stand next to the door, guiding it with the Force. She wraps her arms around his neck and backs him into the blue-and-gold papered wall, fastening her mouth on his with a sigh, murmuring pleased sounds when she discovers he’s already hard. 

“Jaesa’s gonna be pissed when we get kicked out of here.” She scatters kisses across exposed skin while she unfastens his belt. There’s a metallic clink as the buckle bounces off his thigh and then there’s her hand, warm and insistent, sliding down through the trail of hair below his navel and into his underwear, wrapping around his cock with intimate familiarity.

“Plenty of other posh, overpriced restaurants in this city, she’ll live,” he mumbles, more focused on how she doesn’t stop kissing him, even as her hand begins moving - teeth gentle on his earlobe, then teeth capturing his lower lip with just enough strength to make need send a clarion call down his spine. The tip of her tongue darts out, skimming his now-swollen lip, slipping into his mouth and muffling the sounds trying to sneak out.

He has an arm wrapped around her, crushing her against him, already rolling his hips. The long slow strokes into her curved fingers aren’t enough; they're simply making him think of her mouth, her legs wrapped around him. “Oh, _fuck_ , Lin,” he groans, breath warm on the delicate curve of her ear. One of his hands curls in a fist around a handful of white dress as she slowly unravels him, as she tightens her grip just enough that his knee nearly buckles, his strangled moan surprisingly loud, almost obscene in the elegantly appointed ‘fresher.

“Major! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Pierce peers over her shoulder with unfocused eyes at the irate colonel standing just inside the door, and can’t keep the grin off his face. “I think I’m getting the galaxy’s best handjob.” He bites his lip as she, unconcerned that they now have an audience, caresses him again. “Uh, sir.”

Lin directs a lazy glance over her shoulder, though she doesn’t relinquish her hold on Pierce, her movements slowing but not stopping, holding him maddeningly close to orgasm without letting him have it. “Colonel, is there a problem?”

“Copulating in a ‘fresher disgraces the uniform!” he splutters. “Who do you work for, Major?”

Pierce’s only answer is a whimper, clutching at Lin’s arm as she finally withdraws her hand, leaving him painfully erect and all but panting for her. She drags a fingertip along the curve of his lower lip, her eyes full of heat, and then winks.

She turns, pressing her ass against Pierce until he hisses a strained breath through his teeth and grinds on her. “Colonel, I am Darth Tenax, a lord of the Sith, and in case you are unaware, if I wish this major to pleasure me in front of the Spires of Victory at high noon, he will do so, and because I am Sith, you cannot do a thing about it, now can you?” She sounds so stereotypically Sith and so unlike herself that Pierce has to bite the inside of his cheek to not laugh out loud. Only Lin would get imperious over getting caught fucking around in a ‘fresher.

The colonel is brick-red with rage. “This is a blatant abuse of -”

“ _Can_ you, Colonel?”

“No, my lord,” he growls, staring balefully at Lin.

Pierce is shaking with silent laughter behind her, his face buried in her shoulder and his arm wrapped around her waist, and it takes all of her willpower to not crack a smile. “Not to mention, this major is operating exclusively under my purview.” She just can’t help but continue, grinning insolently. “And under me. And on top of me when I so desire. Which makes my fucking none of _your_ fucking business. Are we clear?”

“Yes, my lord.”

She turns her back on the colonel, no longer concerned with his existence, and directs her gaze to Pierce, who still hasn’t made any attempt to put himself to rights just in case they’re not done. She slowly wraps her hand around his cock again, finger by finger, her eyes not leaving his. “Do you want me to fuck you, Major?”

“No, my lord.” His voice is thick with lust; it hits her like lightning and her eyes widen when he speaks. “I want to fuck _you_.”

“Hmm.” She kisses him full on the mouth, brash and full of fire, her hands swift and gentle as she tucks him back into his trousers. Zips them. Buckles his belt. “Good.”

Pierce’s hand tightens on her back, fingertips inside her dress and digging into the top curve of her ass as he kisses her back, rough and hungry. “On your lead, my lord.”

She laces her fingers with his and pulls him out of the ‘fresher, giggling when she hears him give the colonel a jaunty _by your leave, sir_ as they pass.

[4]  
By the time they get the hotel door open - after several tries - Lin has stolen his hat and has already begun fumbling with the buttons on his coat. They stumble across the living room and down the hall, utterly unaware of Jaesa and Vette sitting on the couch watching a movie.

The bedroom door hasn't even closed before she's unfastening the leather belt and its accompanying shoulder strap. She tosses them both to the side then tilts his chin up, reaching for the first button on his jacket. Her brows draw together as it resists, the button simply refusing to slide through the buttonhole, and she stops, scowling until he looks at her. “Can I just tear this off of you?”

“Oh no, my lord. This is a required uniform item.” He gives her a rakish grin. “You’ll just have to unbutton it.”

“But you don’t even care about ….” She gapes at him. “You’re _stopping_ me undressing you?”

“I’m making you work for it.” He leans forward, catches her bottom lip between his teeth, then kisses her. “Important distinction.”

Her eyes narrow, and he knows he’s going to pay for that later. Maybe sooner. Either way, she’s going to make him pay.

He can’t wait to see what punishment she devises.

After five minutes of pushing and shoving and swearing nets her two buttons undone and the disappointing re-discovery of his undershirt, she leans forward and draws the tender skin on his throat into her mouth, biting down until he shudders against her. She inspects the resulting red mark before flicking the tip of her tongue across it, keeping her mouth on his neck. “Can _you_ do it?” 

“How the fuck am I supposed to say no to that?” he asks raggedly, fingers already on the next button. “What are you going to - _ohhh_.” She’s unfastened his belt and trousers in the space of his question, more than willing to pick up where they left off in the restaurant. Her grip is a little too tight, a little too distracting, a little too perfect; she strokes his length, making a swirling motion over the head that forces a moan from between his lips, repeating the motion a little faster. And a little faster. 

He knows he’s in trouble the first time his hips twitch toward her of their own volition.

“ _Yes_ ,” she breathes as he thrusts into her hand again. “You’re so close. I can feel it.” She’s practically adhered to his side, rolling her hips in time with his movements. 

“Lin … aw fuck, _Linaera_ , I can’t -” Buttons momentarily forgotten, he grabs her arms and pushes her backward onto the bed. “Damn it, _stop_ , you’re not going to make me look like a seventeen year old at thirty six.” He glowers at her, breathing hard. All he wants to do is throw her back on the bed and fuck her senseless, and it's taking every ounce of his self-control to not touch her. “Now sit there and attempt to behave for _one_ minute so I can get this fucking coat off.”

“I thought you liked it when I misbehave,” she purrs, his hat still sitting at a jaunty angle on her head, fluttering her eyelashes at him in an outlandish display of tipsy coquetry. “Never heard you complain before. In fact, you get rather vocally -” She grins when he growls at her. “All right, all right. I’ll behave. But only if you come stand riiiight here while you finish unbuttoning that infernal coat,” she says, pointing at the floor between her white-draped spread legs. “I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself.” To show her sincerity, she raises her hands over her head. “See?”

She is a _terrible_ liar. He goes over there anyway. 

He’s a man of surprisingly few vices, but Lin is the one he will always succumb to.

For a moment, she’s content to let him believe she was telling the truth, watching him open button after button. Then she remembers she said her hands, but she doesn’t need her hands to move the shirt … like _so_ … giving her free access to his gorgeously defined stomach, nearly panting as she reveals taut, rich brown skin. Or to slide the trousers down … like _that_ … to reveal the tantalizing lines of the v at his hips.

He laces his hands with her still-raised ones when he’s done with the last button, squeezes them tight when she presses the first wet, needy kiss to his stomach. “You’re a damn liar.”

“Am not.” Another kiss, lower, and she smiles at the noise that slips out of his mouth. “I still haven’t used my hands.” Her tongue, warmth leaving coolness in its wake, along one hipbone. “You never said I couldn’t use the Force.” The same caress on the other hipbone. “And it’s hardly my fault you’re so irresistible.” She leans forward, resting her chin on his bared stomach and looking up at him, gray eyes wide. “You should take this shirt off. But keep the coat.”

“Been thinking about this for awhile, have you?” So has he, of course. He shrugs off the coat and then pulls the undershirt off one-handed, to her obvious delight. 

She nods as she watches him, eyes caught by the dogtags resting against his chest. “It would only be better if I could hear medals jingling while you fuck me. But we can save that for next time.” She flicks her fingers at the coat. “Put it back on. Don’t button it.” 

He has to lean over her to pick it up off the bed, and she takes the opportunity to plant kisses down his side, dragging her fingernails along his hips before she slips her fingers underneath his trousers and underwear to grip his ass. “I’ve been thinking about you all fucking night,” she murmurs, the downward movement of her wrists sliding his clothes past his ass. Her gaze, hot and hungry, settles on his cock, her breath growing short as she leans forward and drags her tongue along its length. “Been thinking about _fucking_ you all night, too.” 

He moans outright, flinging the hat across the room and splaying his hands on the sides of her head, his voice a tumble of drawn-out vowels and clipped consonants, every word an expletive as she takes all of him again and again, excruciatingly slow. It takes everything in his power to not tighten his hold, to not fuck her mouth, to let her have control, but soon she’s humming with pleasure, her gaze turned upward so her eyes can meet his as her head bobs, and all thoughts of taking control have fled his mind.

His hands slip from the sides of her head to the clasps of the wide choker holding up her dress. Three hooks swiftly unlatched and her dress falls into her lap, baring what he’s pretty sure are the best breasts in at _least_ the Empire, if not the galaxy. Her eyes close when he cups both, teasing weapon-callused thumbs across her nipples until she’s shaking under his touch, her careful rhythm becoming erratic.

He holds out as long as he can before stepping back with a groan, inhaling sharply when cool air rushes across his cock, and rubs the pad of one thumb across her cheekbone. She looks like a corrupted Jedi, dressed in remnants of pure white, lips red and swollen, stormy eyes bright with unquenched desire as she gazes up at him.

He’s never wanted anyone or anything as much as he wants her. 

Her mouth curves in a smile at him, unbound and undisciplined yet oh so undoubtedly military. That uniform’s been doing things to her all night; she’s impressed she can still string two words together when the trousers are barely clinging to his ass and the coat is little more than a frame for his chest. “I like how they equip you with rope.” She reaches up and drags a finger along his aiguillette. “It’s like they _want_ you to misuse the uniform.” 

He unfastens it with a quick and practiced hand. “How many, my lord?”

“Hmm?” She’s distracted, avidly watching him secure the red rope around her extended wrists. 

“How many times will I make you come?” He kneels between her legs, looking up at her, all but licking his lips. “Before you beg me to fuck you?”

“One.” She's on the verge of begging now, though she won't admit it.

He _tsk_ s at her, wounded. Making her orgasm is one of his favorite pastimes. He still jacks off to the memory of the time she dared him to find out how many times he could get her off. She’d hollered herself hoarse, left scratches down his back that stung for three days, and finally shoved him away with slack, shaking limbs, flushed and panting and exhausted. 

He needs to stop thinking about _that_ or she won’t get a chance to beg. “Only one?” 

She’s already quivering with anticipation, her eyes not leaving him as he slides the white dress out from under her, then lifts one of her legs. “I’ve been waiting for -” Her breath hitches when he kisses the curve of her calf before moving upward. “Oh, _fuck_ ... for hours.”

The slip of lace that hardly qualifies as underwear attests to this, already damp when he shoves it to the side, tongue and lips and heat all engulfing her at once because he can't help himself and has to have her _now_. His neatly-trimmed beard brushes against her inner thighs and that alone is nearly enough to send her over the edge, even without the maddening circles he’s tracing around her clit and the way first one, then two, fingers slide into her, curving upward almost immediately to press against her.

“Oh, _stars_ ,” she gasps between clenched teeth as she falls backward onto the bed, her hips rocking on his hand. “Not wasting any time tonight, are you?”

“Waste time, when you could look and sound like this ‘cause of me?” His breath is warm, torturous on too-sensitive skin. He bends his head, sucking at her this time, wringing vulgar half-sobs from her as she grinds on his face and stammers his name, arms flung above her head as her back arches. 

“I … I - ah!” Her voice takes jagged leaps upward, her whole body tensing, and then her thighs are clenched on the sides of his head as she strains against him. There's a faint tearing sound and then one hand is raking through his hair while she muffles her scream of release against her other arm, the knot of the now-torn aiguillette still around her wrist. She's writhing, dripping wet, her muscles rippling with each movement. “Pierce, _please_!”

He can't look away, cock twitching even as a wicked smile pulls at his mouth. “That what you call begging?” Off come the boots, then the trousers. “A single please?” 

Her head jerks up and her eyes don't leave him as she makes a subtle _come here_ gesture with one hand, yanking him up off the floor and onto the bed; he lands kneeling astride her. She stretches out a hand, lazily brushes her fingertips along his inner thigh, her voice husky with command as she links her legs around his waist and pulls him toward her. “Fuck me, Pierce.”

He's kept up the charade for as long as he cares to and easily slides into her; his first thrust, sharp and ferocious, shifts her backward on the bed. “As you command,” he groans, falling down onto his elbows, the length of his body pressed against the length of hers.

She lifts one hand and cups his face, urging him downward. “You listen so well … when you want to,” she murmurs against his mouth before her tongue sweeps past his easily parted lips. He tastes like her, and like him, and her hand tightens on his jaw as she clings to him, hiding her smile as frustration rumbles in his chest.

Her eyes fly open when he grips her wrist and slams it into the bed. “Be sweet later, Lin.” The words are a growl against her throat, his teeth closing on it as he jerks forward again. 

He should have known she’d be contrary. “Or what?” she asks, breathless. 

“I'll -” He pretends to think while lost in the sensation of her undulating around him. “I’ll use your full name.”

She turns her head enough to catch his earlobe between her teeth, her whisper hoarse. “Say it.”

“Linaera Elise Ashall Tsurai, stop making me pay for making you work to get me naked and _let me fuck you_.” It comes out as more of a whine than he’d like but there’s nothing to be done about it now.

This time the grin blooms full on her face, though it has a decidedly mischievous air as she snaps up into him. “Well, since you asked so nicely, R-”

The rest of his name is lost in an uncontrolled moan as he slips a hand between them. “Don’t you even,” he grumbles, teasing her too-sensitive clit until she claws helplessly at his back. He catches her shriek with a rough kiss, his dogtags leaving imprints on both of their chests as her legs, still wrapped around him, shake uncontrollably. “Now that’s two,” he crows into the reddened, love-bitten flesh of her neck, “and I can't resist you any longer, my lord.”

She’s still gasping for air when he pushes himself back up onto his knees, all overtures of gentleness gone, and yanks her toward him in time with each brutal thrust of his hips. She reaches over her head and braces her hands against the headboard, pushing back against him. This orgasm is melting into the last one, leaving Lin floating in a haze of bliss as she watches sweat form on Pierce’s brow, his muscles flexing and tensing, driven past coherence into shameless, wanton sounds that spark like fire in her blood and send her voice rising to meet his.

His fingers dig into her thighs, hard enough that there’ll be bruises in her burnished skin tomorrow, and he comes with a shout that is part triumph, part relief. He topples over next to her, still breathing hard, one leg thrown over hers and one arm wrapped around her as he pulls her flush against him. The gust of air from her pleased sigh drifts warm over his bared flesh as she rolls onto her side, stretching her arm across his chest, and he’s almost asleep when he feels her chuckle against his neck.

“What?”

She mumbles something unintelligible into the curve of his neck before she pushes herself up onto one elbow. “You know,” she says, too casually, “you still haven’t given me my one use of your name. You owe me.”

He’d been hoping she’d forget, though he supposes that was too much to ask for given that she just tried to use it a few minutes ago. “Do you want your one now?”

Her eyes are positively sparkling with mischief. “Actually, yes. Yes, I do.”

“Get it over with, and then we’re even.” He heaves a long-suffering sigh, resisting the urge to throw his forearm over his eyes. “And the next time you use it - because I know you, and I know you will - I’m gonna slug you.”

“I know.” Lin catches his gaze, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Rory Aston Pierce, will you marry me?”

She isn't sure what reaction she’s expecting, but it’s certainly much more than him laying dumbstruck and blinking owlishly at her. When he doesn’t say anything, she pops him on the arm, though her words are spoken with a tenderness at odds with what she’s saying. “You’re supposed to _answer_ , asshole.” 

His brain finally catches up and he bolts upright, sending her scrambling backward to avoid catching a headbutt to the face. “Did you just fucking ask me to _marry you_?” he shouts, raking his hands through his hair. “ _That’s_ what you used your one for?”

“I wanted to make the most of it,” she says, regarding him calmly. “You can say no, you know.”

His astonishment slews into indignation. “Say no? Why the fuck wouldn’t I marry you, you jackass? I love you.”

“And I love you, so why are you yelling at me?” A laugh bursts out of her, taking wing in the quiet of the bedroom, and she gives him a shove. “Get your damn clothes back on and let’s go get married.”

He rolls off the bed, retrieves his trousers, then sweeps her dress off the floor and tosses it to her. She catches it one-handed and steps into it, arching backward to hold the dress up as she swiftly fastens the three clasps on the collar.

“Your aiguillette is broken,” she says, almost apologetic. Holding up her wrists, she shows him the frayed bracelet of red rope.

His belt buckle jingles as he pulls his undershirt over his head, stretching to situate the sleeves before he tucks the bottom into his trousers. He shrugs, unconcerned, his fingers nimble on the rope as he unties each piece and discards them on the desk. “I’ve got another. Duplicates of everything that goes on my uniform, just in case.” By the time she’s slipped her shoes on and reapplied what little makeup she wears, he’s finishing buttoning his coat. “Gonna grab that aiguillette. I’ll meet you in the living room.”

She swipes his hat off the floor and settles it onto her head with an insouciant smirk. “You got it.” They part ways in the hallway, and Lin strolls out into the living room, immediately heading for the kitchen to get a glass of water. 

“Wow, my lord, I didn’t expect to see you tonight,” Vette calls cheerily.

Jaesa grins. “Dressed, anyway. It certainly didn’t sound like you two were dressed ten minutes ago.”

Lin downs her water and sets the empty glass onto the counter as she gulps a breath of air. “Oh, man, I needed that, I was dying of thirst.” She gives the two women on the couch an arch look. “And if you two are going to keep mouthing off, we’ll find someone else to be witnesses at the wedding.”

“Wedding, right,” Vette scoffs as Jaesa dissolves into helpless laughter. “You’re going to have to do better than that to get us, my lord.”

Pierce strides into the living room, comm in hand. “Yes, Commodore, we should be there in the next half hour, and we’ll have our witnesses with us. See you then.” He disconnects and looks at Lin. “Ready?”

Lin waves a dismissive hand at Vette and Jaesa. “These two won’t get their shit together and get off the couch, Pierce. Guess they don’t want to come with us. Do you have a couple of friends you can call to be our witnesses?”

“Sure.” 

He’s already punching in a frequency as Vette and Jaesa scramble off the couch. “Wait!” Jaesa shoves her feet into her shoes and all but runs across the room, yanking a cloak and a coat off the rack near the door. She lobs the coat to Vette and flings the cloak around her shoulders. 

“Yeah, I’m serious,” Pierce is saying into the comm, rolling his eyes at Lin as she grins at him. “If you don’t believe me maybe you should meet me at Commodore Hamemand’s house in twenty minutes.”

“You know all the other guys are gonna want to come. _No_ one believes you’re serious,” the unidentified voice on the other end of the comm says. “You, married? No way.”

“Fine, bring everyone, but no one better show up looking like a bag of ass. Gotta go.” Pierce disconnects again and stuffs the comm back into his pocket. “They’re coming anyway, I guess.”

Jaesa opens the door. “Well, let’s go! I want to see if you two are serious or dragging us along for the galaxy’s best jape.”

Pierce plucks his hat off Lin’s head and settles it onto his own. “After you, my lord.”

[5]  
Lin, Pierce, Jaesa, and Vette pull up to a very nice house in the Garden District at the same time three other speeders do, all bearing at least five soldiers, all in uniform. Lin looks over at Pierce as they get out, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were inviting half the Army.”

“Holy shit!” A petite woman with braided red hair vaults over the side of the speeder she’s in and swiftly closes the distance between her and Pierce. “Coadwall wasn’t fucking with us, you’re actually getting married?”

“All right, all right, Trewick, get out of the way, I have to see who agreed to -” A broad-shouldered blond man pushes through the milling soldiers and stops short. “The Wrath!” He raises an eyebrow and looks at Pierce, frank amazement on his face. “Really?”

“I thought you Sith all had arranged marriages and only did it for the bloodlines and shit anyway,” Trewick says, giving Lin a once-over. “Isn’t it supposed to be an insult of the highest order to lower yourself to us mere mortals?”

“Fucking _hell_ , Trewick -” Pierce starts.

Lin waves him off with a laugh. “I’ve been a disappointment to my mother for thirty-five years, I may as well keep on disappointing her. She already thinks he’s my consort anyway, I might as well make it official.” She grins at Pierce. “I guess you can have that title now.”

“ _Yes_!” he says, exultant. “I can’t wait to introduce myself to some stuffed shirt.”

“Major, why is it everything is ten times louder when you’re around? I’d have thought you’d have quieted down since you served aboard my ship.” A willowy woman in a crisp uniform is standing on the front porch, her hands on her hips. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing half the base to my house.”

“Gotta yell at Coadwall, ma’am, that was his doing.” Pierce shrugs, then affects a hurt tone. “Apparently half the base has to personally witness these proceedings since it’s so unbelievable I’d get married.”

“Well, get in here, then.” 

As the group files past her, she inclines her head to Lin. “Commander.”

Lin stops. “We haven’t been properly introduced,” she says, shooting a dirty look at the door Pierce has just passed through. “Linaera Tsurai.”

“The former Wrath, yes? And now you’re with that alliance that’s going to take the fight to Arcann.” The woman looks pleased. “Commodore Micale Hamemand, my lord. Please, come in.”

She leads Lin through a well-appointed cream and gold foyer and into a similarly decorated formal living room. “You’re here for a wedding, not a barbeque, so get out of those chairs and stand properly,” she snaps at the soldiers as she makes her way to the front of the room. “Commander, Major, if you please.”

Lin and Pierce arrange themselves in front of her as Vette pulls out a holorecorder.

“If this is all an elaborate prank, my lord,” Pierce says, leaning toward Lin, “you better back out now. Cause after this you’re stuck with me.”

Lin rolls her eyes. “Oh, please, Major. I’ve been stuck with you since Taris and you know it, just like you’ve been stuck with me. Now, unless you’re trying to tell me you want out, let’s let the commodore get through this ceremony so she can go enjoy the rest of her night.”

Commodore Hamemand suppresses a smile. “I assume everyone knows why they’re here -” She stops, looking up when someone in the back raises their hand. “Yes?”

“This isn’t the evening run for burgers?”

“Shut your mouth, Berhan,” Pierce calls over his shoulder, raising his voice to be heard over the laughter of the group. “I may be in dress blacks but I can still kick your ass when we’re done here.”

Jaesa leans closer to Vette. “A wedding and a fight,” she says. “Is there anything _more_ typical for them?”

“Not unless this all happened because of a pazaak bet,” Vette giggles.

“ _Anyway_ , as I was saying,” Commodore Hamemand continues, “we can keep this as short as you two would like. We can skip right to the vows if you want.”

Lin and Pierce exchange a glance.

Hamemand’s brows draw together. “You don’t have _vows_?”

“Well ….” Lin shifts her weight under the commodore’s disapproving gaze. “It was spur of the moment, this whole thing.”

“We can wing it.” They turn to face each other, and Pierce takes Lin’s hands. “Linaera Elise Ashall Tsurai, I won’t ever take the last beer without at least arm wrestling you for it, I’ll get your mother off your back whenever you ask, and the next time you command me to take off and leave you I’m not gonna listen. Me and you, from now til the end, whenever that is and however it comes.”

“Now how the fuck am I supposed to follow _that_?” she exclaims to the amusement of everyone else. “When did you get eloquent?”

“Been saving it for a special occasion.” He grins at her. “Your turn.”

“Rory Aston Pierce,” she starts, holding up two fingers and mouthing _that’s two_ with a triumphant look on her face, “I’ll occasionally let you win pazaak games, I’ll continue to coddle you when you’re too damn stubborn to go to the corpsman because I know you love it, and I will never make you regret being a stubborn ass and waiting for me. Me and you, from now til the end, whenever it is and however it comes.”

Commodore Hamemand nods, pleased. “By my authority as a commodore in the Imperial Navy, I declare you legally married.” Her cheek twitches. “You’re now, as you’ve observed, stuck with each other, and it’s generally customary to kiss at this point.”

Pierce wraps an arm around Lin’s waist, his hand resting on the small of her back as he pulls her to him. “My lord.”

She twines her arms around his neck. “Major.”

Their lips have barely touched when Jaesa clears her throat. “Try to at least keep half his clothes on this time, Master,” she interjects, trying and failing to look innocent. “I didn’t bring enough credits for a show.”

Pierce mock-glowers at her. “Stop ruining the fun, Jaesa!”

“I did!” Coadwall calls, echoed by six other people.

“I’m not fucking with those buttons,” Lin says, “so this whole discussion is moot.” She kisses him again, fiercely this time. “I’d say this calls for a celebration. Abita’s?”

He nods, circling around her to face the group. “All right, get the hell out of the commodore’s house! Pancakes on us at Abita’s if you want to come.”

Hamemand raises her voice to be heard over the small stampede of people herding out of her home. “You two and your two witnesses need to fill out this form before you go.” She hands the datapad to Lin. “My lord, you have seniority; you’ll need to fill the form out first and be responsible for its submission.”

“About damn time a Sith did some work,” Pierce mutters just loud enough for Lin to hear him, grinning when she slaps his arm. She finishes entering her information and passes the datapad to Pierce.

“Take it over to the Office of Records in the Citadel tomorrow,” Hamemand continues. “They’ll create your certificate and transmit it to your respective administrative offices, and then you’re done.”

Vette and Jaesa fill out their parts, and Hamemand ejects the datacard and hands it to Lin. “There you go. Now go get your pancakes and leave me to my previously quiet evening.” She smiles. “And congratulations.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once you get married you have to have a reception, right? And Pierce & Lin never say no to a party.

[1]  
Abita’s is already raucous by the time Vette pulls the speeder to a stop in the parking lot, and it only gets louder when Lin and Pierce walk in. It looks like their group of seventeen has taken over the entirety of the small diner, rearranging tables so most of them are at least somewhat facing what is clearly meant to be the head table, judging by the ragged-looking bouquet of snowblooms on it, and the whole affair has become half wedding reception, half military reunion.

Lin leans close to be heard over the noise. “So are you going to introduce me to -”

“Gotta kiss before you can sit down!” someone shouts, a demand enthusiastically echoed by most everyone else present.

“Have fun, you two!” Jaesa calls as she takes Vette’s hand, leading her toward an empty table.

Lin slings an arm around Pierce’s shoulders before their lips meet. “I don’t think I’ve ever kissed someone on command before,” she laughs as they break apart. “Who was that?”

“Wardak. Met her at my first duty station.” They make their way through the tables and the press of people, accepting congratulations the entire way. “She’s who you hang out with if you want to have a good fucking time you probably won’t remember, and very possibly get demoted if you get busted having said good time, since it’s rarely _not_ skirting the boundaries of legal and illegal.” 

“Hey, Sith,” Trewick says as Lin and Pierce drop into their chairs, almost in unison. “Where’s all your friends? I mean, almost everyone here is from the old man’s side of things.”

“Hey!” Pierce gives Trewick a dirty look, one he promptly redirects to Lin when she can’t stifle a chuckle fast enough. He elbows her. “You’re not supposed to laugh!”

Lin elbows him back. “I laugh at you all the time; nothing’s changed.” Her lips brush his cheek, then she turns to Trewick. “Vette and Jaesa are here; they’re my friends. Other than that, making friends isn’t really something that’s easy to do when you’re serving as the Emperor’s extrajudicial executioner.”

Trewick looks like she’s going to say something else when a tall, lanky man leans forward. “Don’t mind Sergeant Loudmouth; she’s never known when to shut the hell up. We’ll just attribute it to being shocked that Pierce got married.”

“To a fucking Sith!” Trewick chimes in, and Lin can't tell if she's supposed to be insulted or not.

“I’m Captain Angrenn,” the man continues, “and Trewick can bark all she wants about how much she dislikes Sith but no way are you any sort of authoritarian dickhead if Pierce married you, and eventually she'll figure that out.”

“Maybe not an _authoritarian_ dickhead.” Pierce peers around Lin. “But Lin's definitely a dickhead.”

“Wouldn't expect any less from a woman who's put up with your ass for what, six years now? Seven?” A pale man with short black hair mirrors Pierce’s stance, appearing on the far side of Angrenn. “Lieutenant Mulmea, my lord. This guy gotten any better at pazaak since I used to regularly divest him of credits?”

Lin dissolves into laughter, loud even in the din of the crowded room, and she has to take several deep breaths before she can answer. “Please, call me Linaera, and no, he hasn't.” She nudges Pierce. “Didn't I suggest you just have your paychecks diverted to my account at one point?”

“Yeah, but you also suggested that damn swing, so it's safe to say some of your suggestions are fucking awful,” he retorts, smirking. 

“It would have been fine if we hadn’t been too drunk to use it properly!”

Angrenn elbows Trewick, clearly amused at this exchange. “Still think he's made a huge mistake?”

She makes a noncommittal _harrumph_ noise. “Maybe she's okay. We’ll see.”

“Hey, Pierce, one of these hooligans told me that this is all going on your account?” The waitress, Alis, brandishes two menus. “Do you two even need these? And do you want your usual pot of caf?”

“I’ll take one, Alis,” Lin says. “And caf would be great. Don’t put it on his, put it on mine, but yeah, we’re paying for it. Sorry for springing this all on you.”

“No worries. Vette called while you two were doing your paperwork and let us know what was going on; Mom just had us close for your impromptu party.” She grins. “And then went home.”

“When you see her, tell her thank you for us.” Lin flips through the menu, closes it, and hands it back to Alis. “Waffles today, I think.”

Alis nods. “Pierce?”

“Like I ever get anything but pancakes, Alis,” he says, grinning.

As Alis departs, Coadwall snags a chair and pulls it up in front of their table. “So … Linaera, right?” When she nods, he continues. “Pierce ever tell you any stories? We’ve known each other since basic training, so if he hasn’t, I will.”

“Coadwall, I haven’t even been married for an hour and you’re already over here trying to slander me?”

Lin looks over, biting back a laugh when she sees Pierce absolutely glowering, arms folded across his chest. “Why, no! No, he hasn’t … but I’m getting the feeling I’m missing a story, so now I _have_ to hear it.”

“You’re not missing one; you’re missing at least four. Hang on.” Coadwall jumps up and disappears back toward his table.

Pierce turns his glower on Lin as Coadwall departs. “You’re supposed to be on _my_ side, you know.”

She shifts her chair closer to his, pressing a kiss to his cheek as she glides her palm along his inner thigh. “I know, and I am! But this is an unparalleled opportunity, and I am nothing if not opportunistic, you know this.” As if to illustrate her point, she skims maddeningly close to the top of his leg and increases the pressure of her hand until he draws a sharp breath. “See?”

“Fine. Sit here and listen to Coadwall run his mouth.” He leans closer, mouth practically touching her ear. “But don’t move your hand, either.”

She winks at him as Coadwall reappears, caf cup in hand. He settles back into his stolen chair and gets comfortable before he starts talking. “I was thinking about it while I got my caf, and we can start with the one where he talked me into switching our temporary nametags the first week we were out at the rifle range.”

“Oh, hell!” Pierce throws his head back and laughs. “That got us in so much trouble.”

Coadwall grins as nine other people pull up chairs to listen. “Yeah, it did. So there’s Recruit Coadwall and Recruit Pierce, and he gets what he’s sure is a _great_ idea ….”

[2]  
They’d finally made their excuses at midnight, left Alis and the kitchen a massive tip for all their troubles, and stopped at the hotel to pack for their stay at the ridiculously fancy hotel suite across town, “because it’s just how it’s done, Master, stop arguing, we already made your reservation.”

The rain patters against the floor to ceiling windows of the large cream and black suite, turning the commanding view of the city and surrounding jungle into a liquid work of art. A plush scarlet couch dominates the sitting room, facing a low, intricately carved table that holds a large vase containing a profusion of flowers in a riot of colors, a bottle of champagne, and two fluted crystal glasses.

Lin carries the cake box to the sitting room table and sets it down next to the champagne, then turns toward the open bedroom door. She pauses in the doorway and looks over her shoulder at Pierce. He's standing, bag in hand, looking like he can't quite believe what's happened in the last few hours. 

Lin’s mouth curves into a soft smile. “You coming, or are you going to loiter over there?”

“Yeah, I'm coming.” He doesn't add that he got distracted watching her … again, just like he has all night.

When he starts toward her she makes her way into the bedroom, stepping out of her shoes and depositing her bag on the far side of the oversize bed. He follows suit on the other side, removing his gloves, hat, belt, and coat; he leaves them in a neat stack at the foot of the bed, then sits to pull off his boots. 

“ _Finally_ ,” he groans as he drops the second boot to the floor. “I hate these damn things.”

Lin saunters around the bed, amusement in her eyes, and holds out her hand, hauling him to his feet when he takes it. “You know,” she says as they make their way back out to the sitting room, “I was sure that _if_ we got married, we’d be absolutely hammered and probably on Nar Shaddaa at the time. And then wake up a day later wondering why the fuck Vette and Jaesa are eating cake for breakfast and we’re wearing rings.”

He slides an arm around her waist, she drapes hers across his shoulders, and they walk over to the large window. “My creds were on a pazaak bet. Eventually one of us would have put it on the table, and we’d have had to do it or never fucking live it down.”

There's a pause as they consider this. “And we still would have been absolutely hammered,” they add in unison.

Pierce takes her free hand with his, his gaze drawn to their interlaced fingers, burnished copper and rich sepia. “Lin, I ….” He laughs, half to himself. “We’re _married_ , Lin. We’re not the marrying type. Or the responsible type. What the fuck are we doing?”

“Hell, you and I both know we were going to be together the rest of our damn lives anyway.” She lifts their hands up and presses a lingering kiss to the back of his. “It’s not like this changes anything, other than adding another record to the voluminous Imperial archives and _really_ pissing off my mother. Going back to Odessen and introducing you as my husband is going to be the highlight of my relationship with her.” Her eyes become narrow gray slits. “Not having second thoughts, are you?”

“Never had second thoughts when it comes to you.” He pivots to face her, regarding her with surprising solemnity. “Not once in all the years you’ve been in my life.” He extracts his hand from hers and cups her face, his fingers curving feather-light along her jaw.

She raises one eyebrow, suspicion heavy in her voice. “What are you doing, Major?”

“I’m kissing my wife properly, my lord. I didn't get to earlier, since we’re assholes with asshole friends who interrupted us.” His thumbs whisper across her cheeks and his mouth, warm and still syrup-sweet, finds hers as easily as always. 

Lin stands stock-still for a moment, taken aback by this uncharacteristic tenderness. It’s an almost delicate kiss, tranquil but for the flutters it sends down her spine, serene but for the burst of heat it ignites in his chest, and at last she melts into him with a sigh, light and airy. He’s coaxed an astonishing variety of sounds from her over their seven year relationship, but never anything like this, this surrender and bliss and contentment all tangled together in a single fleeting exhalation.

The world shrinks to just the two of them as he drops one arm down to circle her waist and she wraps long, graceful fingers around the back of his neck. The moment extends into timelessness, the minutes passing by unheeded and unmarked, until they part slowly, reluctantly. 

“Pierce.” She punctuates the single syllable with a kiss.

“Hmm?”

A slow smile pulls at the corners of her mouth. “You’re not going soft just cause we got married, are you? It’d be terrible for our reputation. Jaesa and Vette would never let us live it down.”

He grazes his thumb across the scar on her chin. “Maybe just for tonight. Once every seven years is an acceptable rate, right?” His expression turns impish. “I won’t tell them if you won’t. It’ll be our little secret.”

“How novel, the two of us keeping a secret! But since we’re being mushy ….” She mimics his earlier gesture, her hands cradling his face as she kisses him again. “I love you.”

His response is an exaggerated gasp and a step backward, one hand pressed to his chest. “What? Since _when_?”

“You’re fucking terrible at mushy, not that I didn’t already know that after that time you tried to reenact a romance novel.” She looks past him for a moment, then straight-arms him. He’s caught off guard and stumbles backward, landing hard on the couch, still laughing when she settles onto his lap with a thoughtful look. “You know, I don’t know exactly? There’s no clear demarcation other than you weren’t there, and then you were, and it wasn't long before I couldn't see my life without you.”

“Well, _I_ know exactly when I realized it.”. He sounds smug and he knows it, but he still remembers the moment like it was yesterday. “You remember when we were on Voss, back in that huge gormak compound, and we decided it’d be a great idea to throw me into combat?” He grins. “That’s when I knew for sure. You had no problem chucking my ass down a hallway - and I knew without a doubt you were right behind me.”

“That was years ago. All this time and you never told me?” Lin’s tone borders on wonder as her mouth seeks his again, and for a time the only sound is the rain on the windows, the two of them lost in each other, in kisses and caresses far gentler than their usual jocular affection. 

He misses her as soon as she pulls away to let him answer. “Not like you told me either, you know.” He can’t keep the smirk off his face. “In fact, about a month ago you ripped my head off and punted it off a balcony for trying to take you to dinner.”

“Saying we don’t date doesn’t have any bearing on if I love you or not, ass.” She slides her hands into his shirt, splaying her fingers across his chest. She knows every curve and plane of his body, knows the the story of every scar under her hands, knows him as well as she knows herself. “And you sprung it on me. _And_ I'm pretty sure my apology was spectacular.”

“It was.” He sits forward and pulls the undershirt off and tosses it in the general direction of the bedroom door, reveling in how she drinks him in. When they'd started this relationship, way back on Taris, he'd been sure they’d flame out and go their separate ways within months, but here they are seven years later and they burn as fiercely for each other now as they did then. He reaches for the clasps on her collar, dropping a trail of kisses from her chin to her ear as the dress slides down her body and pools in her lap. “Lin.”

“Hmmm?” She tilts her head, bares her neck as her fingers sink into his shoulders. She’s trying to not be distracted, but he's so _warm_ , on her ear and against her chest and underneath her, and he smells good, and tastes good, and she wants him to stop talking and kiss her until she’s lightheaded. 

He pulls back, studies her for a moment, and brushes his lips against hers. “I love you.”

“I kind of like you when you’re mushy.”

“You kinda like me all the time, just as much as I kinda like you.” 

He sounds more egotistical about this than Lin thinks he has any right to. “Shut up and kiss me, Major.” 

“Anytime, my lord.”

His hands circle her trim waist as she throws her arms around his neck and presses closer. She's already moving, sighs trickling from her with each roll of her hips. He drags his fingernails along the valley of her spine; she arches backward and he bends his head to one breast, then the other, swirling his tongue around her peaked nipples until she moans his name, fiery and wanton.

She drops her hands and makes quick work of his belt, then rises up onto her knees so he can shove his trousers down past his ass. Her grip is gentle when she guides him to her, slick folds parting easily as she sinks onto his cock. She rocks on his lap, eyes closed, fingers tight on his shoulders. 

Everything she’s doing is blissful torture. He throws his head back, biting his lower lip to stifle a groan as she draws him taut, stokes the fire in his belly hotter with each languid thrust. He can't decide what to do with his hands, so focused is he on how she's moving and the sounds falling from her lips, and they drift across her body: squeezing her breasts, skimming her torso, cupping her ass, finally resting on her hips. 

He's not sure how long it's been when he opens his eyes and lifts her left hand to his lips, kissing her still-bare ring finger. “If you'd given me a heads up, I'd have at least had a ring for you.” Pierce whisks his dogtags off and settles them around her neck. “These’ll have to do until we get to a jeweler and get you something proper. Or something that’ll really piss off your mother.” He grins at her. “Your choice.”

Lin scoops them up and watches them dangle from her fingers, the overhead light gleaming on the rounded corners. “I, ah … hope you don't want these back once I have a ring,” she says softly. “Because I'm keeping them.”

“You might actually hurt my feelings, at least a little, if you gave them back.” He slips his hands under her ass to brace her and stands up. “Come on. That fancy-ass bed’s been calling my name since I saw it.” The smile on his face is positively rakish. “Think you oughta be doing the same thing.”

[3]  
Lin swims to consciousness, stretches as much as she’s able without moving overly much from where she’s tangled with Pierce under the luxurious comforter, her head pillowed on his shoulder. She throws one arm across his chest, sits up just enough to press a kiss to his collarbone. “Morning.”

“Mmm.” He trails his fingertips along her back, eyes still closed. “Time is it?”

“Eight. You can tell we’re on vacation, we slept in and skipped PT.”

He cracks one eye open and wags an eyebrow at her. “Think we got enough PT last night, yeah? Since we’re on vacation.”

She stretches again, still pleasantly sore. “I suppose. I’m pretty famished, though.” She brushes her thumb across his lower lip. “You should go get the cake and champagne and we’ll have breakfast in bed.”

“Me?” He urges her up toward him, his mouth finding hers in a sleepy, lingering kiss. “I think _you_ should.”

She really doesn’t want to get out of bed, and hauls out the big guns: appealing to his ego. “But, Pierce,” she counters, her voice sultry as she traces designs on his chest, “you did _such_ a good job last night that I can barely walk.” 

He wakes up a little more, propping himself up on his elbows and unable to keep the grin off his face. “Oh yeah?” They’ve never been shy about complimenting each other’s prowess in bed, and he’ll bask in it even if he’s pretty sure she’s trying to cajole him into doing her bidding.

“Mm-hmm.” She’s not exactly lying, but she’s not exactly infirm, either. She just wants to stay wrapped up under the blanket and watch him walk around naked while holding cake and booze.

“What about all those times you’ve said that in the past and still got out of bed to go running, my lord?” He affects a hurt look. “Were those all lies?” 

“Damn you and your excellent memory,” she sighs. “No, they weren’t lies, and you know it. Fine, we should both go. I’ll get the forks and stemware, you get the champagne and cake?”

He sits up, swatting her ass before he rolls out of bed. “Stay here. I’ll go get it. Don’t think I’m gonna spoil you like this all the time, though.”

“Next time we get married, I’ll be the one to go get the cake and champagne the next morning, I promise,” she says, holding up a hand in a mock salute and winking at him when he turns to mock-glower at her.

They stay in bed until late afternoon, and Pierce nudges Lin, still flushed and breathing hard, as the credits roll on whatever show was playing while they availed themselves of far more interesting activities. “You sick of laying in bed yet?”

“We haven't exactly been _laying_ in bed.” Lin laughs, her voice raspy. “But I am pretty hungry. Let’s get dressed and go get some dinner.”

“First things first.” He slides out of bed, checking his chrono. “It’s only four; let’s go find you a ring. Then we’ll go somewhere nice for dinner - if you’re okay with that, of course -”

“Ass.” Lin pulls her pillow out from under her head and throws it at him. “How long are you going to bring that up?”

“Until it stops being funny, so probably forever.” He catches the pillow, tosses it back onto the bed. "Quit pouting and come on; let's go enjoy the last night of our honeymoon."


End file.
